Grandson Games

Mark and Faith have come for a visit, bringing my adorable 18 month old grandson Ramseyes. He is getting tall, and chatters away in a lingo known only to him, a few sounds of which are clearly understandable. Mom. Dad. Thank you. Good stuff like that.

He toddles about the apartment, poking at Sugar (dug, duggie - pretty close to doggie) through the mesh of the gate keeping the energetic puppy from knocking the unsteady toddler on his behind. He mushes crackers into the carpet and stares at the Veggie Tales movie Drew has put on, taking long sips of milk from his tippy cup.

He wanders near where I am sitting in the blue recliner, and instinctively, I put my legs around him, capturing the little bundle of wiggles and refusing to let him go. It is a game my father used to play with us when we were little, and with my sons when they were babies. I wonder where my Father learn it? Kiel and Drew both remember and laugh at Ramseyes' predicament.

Kiel remarks how he loved the game, how he would struggle and struggle to get away only to come back for more once he was free. Ramseyes likes it too. He has figured out how to bend over my leg and let gravity assist, laying his head on the rug and kicking his legs. When that doesn't work, he scoots down and tries to escape by pulling himself forward with his hands.

We laugh everytime he manages to free himself because soon after his escape, he finds himself heading back within range, hoping to be captured again. I see him eyeing me with that peculiar mix of hope and defiance.

I am surprised that I play this game with my grandson. I never thought of myself as the grandfatherly type. But here I am carrying on the tradition with the hearty approval of my own sons with whom I did not play this game. How lovely is it that I get a chance to do this! As he grows, I hope I will be able to continue playing with him. The interaction is wonderful. The laughter infectious. The contact welcome.